Selina
by SomePretentiousDumbName
Summary: What do you do when the most powerful man in Gotham wants you dead? Well, you die, obviously.
1. Prologue

Selina

Prologue

No one stays good in this world.

June 22nd, 2018, 1:43 A.M., it was approximately 77°, the sun had set, and I was going to rob Wayne Tower.

To say this job was difficult would be an understatement. Wayne Tower, the tallest, biggest, most secure building in all of Gotham, and there I was, just one girl, about to sweep it clean. Well, about to _try_ , but you should never go into a job with a _trying_ attitude. Personally I've never been one for optimism, but with this gigantic challenge ahead of me, I was willing to try anything.

I'd been casing the joint for weeks now. I applied for a loan from the Wayne monetary fund just to get my foot in the door, and after that it was a matter of exploring every cavernous hallway a student was allowed to explore before security set me back on course. Then it was midnight socials and early morning brunches with as many high-ranking Wayne employees that I could find. It wasn't hard, of course, with my charm. I made sure to wear low-cut tops and short-shorts whenever I met a particularly important employee for lunch.

This paid off in the end when I lured a regional banking manager back to my apartment and stole his building key card. I had Ivy copy it while I kept him...busy. We're a team, she and I. I do all the dirty work of course.

Finally, I just needed to find an entrance a bit less conspicuous than the front door. That wasn't hard, when the night before the whole thing I spotted a vent poking out of the roof. Vents were my bread and butter. My slim frame allowed me to slip through any size vent, which meant that any building with airflow was a sitting duck in my eyes.

So there I was. June 22nd, 1:43 in the morning, all employees had gone home for the night, which meant all that was left was security. Every floor had at least one roving guard, and every guard had at least one handgun. Ergo, any misstep that caused me to get caught would be my literal undoing.

No pressure.

I launched the grappling hook across the gap between Wayne Tower and the FedEx tower I was standing on. The hook part landed on the pebble-stone roof, and when I reeled it in a bit, it got stuck on the ledge, its pointy hooks digging into the concrete. I pulled the rope a few times to make sure it was nice and taut before I began climbing across.

I wrapped my legs around the rope and gripped it tightly with both gloved hands. The buildings were street-length apart, and at this height, every inch felt like a mile. As I began moving, the wind picked up, and I tried to not let the swaying of the rope distract me. It didn't get too harsh, but even the subtle swooshing had me breaking out in cold sweats. I reminded myself over and over how expensive this grappling hook was, and how price meant quality, and how quality meant that if this rope snapped or came loose I was _so_ suing. So, with that in mind, I kept moving.

I was halfway across when I chanced my first glance down. Twenty-two stories up and I could damn well feel it. The ground looked to be infinitely far away, like an endless spiral that only went down and down and down and down... On top of that, I had never seen a road that looked so solid, so concrete, so If-You-Hit-This-Surafce-From-Your-Height-There-Is-No-Chance-You'll-Survive.

My face shot forward. _No more looking down_.

I kept moving. I was so close.

I heard a thud—I froze. It sounded like something had hit the roof of Wayne Tower _hard_. I waited a few seconds. I ran through every possible scenario in my head before coming up with one that I liked: "It's the wind, Selina. It's just the wind."

After that, I made it to the roof no problem. Making it from the rope onto the roof was a little awkward, but eventually my hands and knees were on solid ground, and I couldn't be more elated. I kissed the pebble-stone roof and whispered sweet nothings as I reveled in the feeling of being grounded once again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I looked up and shit my pants. Standing over me, on June 22nd in the middle of the night on Wayne Tower was a man dressed like a bat. I had been caught by a cosplayer.

He looked like an iron statue clad in black and grey, his eyes a bright white, his bat-ears pointy and tall, and his cape enveloping his entire body. "What are you doing here?" he repeated, his voice gravelly and deep, with some tinniness to it—modified, electronically.

"I—I—I," I stuttered. He was blocking the moon, casting a forlorn shadow over me.

"You were going to ransack Wayne Tower," he said.

"No," I shot back quickly. "No, no, no, I was just practicing...my tight rope." He didn't laugh. Clearly jokes were not my friend at the moment.

He just stared at me for a long while. It occurred to me that I was still on my hands and knees, but I didn't know if standing before him was any smarter. He never moved, though the wind did manage to get the hem of his cape flapping like a flag. As it happened, that flapping was the only sound between us.

That is, until a woman screamed loudly from the streets. It sounded close, and it sounded urgent. The man-bat's head shot up, and he listened for the sound again. It came, and he launched into action. "I'll be back," he warned before jumping off the roof.

 _I won't_ , I thought as I scrambled over the ledge and grabbed on to the rope again. _Ivy is not going to believe this_.


	2. Chapter 1: The Cat

Chapter One

The Cat

I burst through the front door of my apartment. My breathing was ragged and my throat hoarse. I had ran all the way from Wayne Tower, ran as fast as my legs would take me and as fast as the wind would push me, until I was safe in my apartment. I slammed the door shut and threw my back against it. I tried to breathe.

I could still feel his dark, enveloping shadow crushing me against the roof, forcing me back, down, into a pit. His eyes, white and flat, piercing me like a knife. I had seen him, the Batman. Who was he? _What_ was he?

 _You gotta calm down, Sel._ You gotta calm down. He's gone, he doesn't know who you are, and you'll likely never see him again.

Ivy.

"Ivy!" I shouted, taking off my shoes at the door. I turned the lock and put the latch into place, and then I moved the foyer desk to block it, just to be safe. "Ivy!" I shouted again, with no response in return.

I moved to the kitchen. "Ivy are you in here?" I moved to the living room, and then her bedroom. Still no sign of her. "Ivy?"

I heard a thump. "Ivy?" I moved this time with caution. I could hear faint breathing from the bathroom down the hall, but still Ivy didn't respond. "Ivy?" I repeated, taking careful steps towards the closed door. Silence followed me as I walked, until another thump hit the door. And then another. And another. Like someone clawing at the wooden frame, trying to break out.

"Oh fuck," I whispered, throwing caution to the wind and running down the hall. I opened the door carefully, and sure enough my suspicions were correct: Ivy was lying half-conscious over the toilet, her hand tapping against the door. I could see blood in the muddied water of the toilet, and I could see the source dripping from her chin. "Oh fuck, Ivy, not again." I picked her up, slinging her arm across my shoulder while I held her side for support. Her head lolled back and I had to keep pushing it forward so she didn't choke on own tongue.

After dragging her across the apartment like that I finally threw her into bed. Her room was an absolute mess, with potted plants covering every surface you could walk on, save for a small path leading from her door to her bed. It was hardly an environment to leave a sick person in, but it was the only place I could put her.

I got her a glass of water and set it on the night stand beside her bed. I thought, momentarily, about pouring some of it into the plants that also sat on her night stand, but decided against it. Ever since Ivy had come down with whatever it was she had come down with, I was left in charge of her stupid green house of a room. I watered every plant in the room almost daily, and even trimmed her favorite ones on occasion. It would be almost meditative, if the smell wasn't so bad.

Once she was tucked in under the covers, I shook her shoulder lightly; "Ivy," I whispered. She stirred slightly.

"You're not going to believe who I saw tonight," I said, wiping away the blood from her face with a wet rag. "The Batman! Can you believe it?"

This one-sided back-and-forth had become common between us. Ivy was sick most days, so I spent as much time as I could beside her bed, telling her about all the adventures she'd miss. She was usually too weak to respond, or even communicate her feelings towards the whole ordeal, but I knew she was listening.

"I was about to pull off the Wayne job, like I said. I was on the roof—oh! So getting onto the roof is a whole other thing. Anyway, I was on the roof, and he was just, like, there. He was so tall, and big, kind of handsome, not my type, but still..." I stroked her hair softly. "Still, it was cool. I wish you could've been there. Or, I guess not. He was pretty scary so I don't think you'd have liked it."

I waited a bit. "The news says he's a vigilante. He's trying to take down Falcone or something? Whatever. The cops hate him, the mob hates him, and now, I guess, I hate him. Must suck, having everyone against you."

Just then, my phone rang. I recognized the number, and hesitated answering. I did answer, though, and regretted it immediately after.

"Selina, baby! Listen, I know it's late, but I have just become privy to some very interesting information that I think you'd like to hear. How about you swing by in about, say, now. Don't be late." He hung up.

–

I did swing by. As soon as I hung up the phone, I was out the door and back to running. This time it was just a few blocks away, so I wasn't panting like a bitch in heat by the time I got there.

There, of course, being Jordan Pendleton Grave's club. Grave was a small-time crime boss in Gotham, fighting for his piece of the pie with the likes of Falcone and Maroni. He mainly dealt in drugs, and sometimes dabbled in weapons sales, but in my case, he was also a loan shark. After Ivy's condition reached a fatal stage, I turned to Grave for money, hoping to check Ivy into Gotham General. I got my money, and Grave got the best investment he had ever made. Selina Kyle, cat burglar extraordinaire, was now in his pocket.

The club was empty when I got there. Grave was sitting in a booth near the very back, with a few thugs hanging out around him. I counted them: 1, 2, 3, 4, all with guns. One of them stood right next to the booth. He watched me as I approached.

Grave looked up. "Selina! Sit, please." He waved his hand at the seat across from him. I slid into the booth, keeping my hands to my sides. The thug watched me carefully. "Selina," Grave began, slicking back his greasy hair, "listen to me. I've been in this business a long time, ok? Long time. I know how to pick 'em. Really, I do. I see fresh, young blood and I give it a yay or nay, you know? I know who's gonna rise from the ashes, and I know who's gonna fall into the pit of spikes. Weird metaphor, I know. Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, you don't have my money. And I know you don't have my money, because..." he snapped his fingers. The thug walked over to a TV hanging above the bar and turned it on. It was flipped to the news, where eye witnesses were describing the scene they had just witnessed:

"And this fucking guy, this fucking bat-guy, comes swooping in, whoosh!" the witness waved their hand across the screen. "Whoosh! He drops in and he just nails the fucking thief, he kicks him right in the chest! The guy went flying! I don't think he got up after that. I just called the cops and they came and picked him up and he wasn't even walking. Holy shit can you imagine getting hit that hard? Holy shit." The shot switched. The news reporter was standing, with a new witness, in front of Wayne Tower. "Yeah I saw him jump down from there, and he just hit the guy. I don't know what he was doing up there. But I saw this other guy on, like, a tight rope, I think? He was crawling across the tight rope, he was leaving the roof, and he went over there—" The witness pointed to the FedEx building.

The thug switched off the TV.

"Wayne Tower," Grave said. "Pretty ballsy, Selina. And very difficult. Especially with someone like the Batman patrolling the streets at night. I guess you learned that the hard way, eh?" He laughed. He kept on laughing. I sat petrified in the booth while his personal bodyguard kept me frozen with his thousand-yard stare.

Grave calmed down. He wiped some tears from his eyes before continuing. "Listen, Selina. As you know, I'm a patient guy. Good things come to those who wait, right? Right. So I wait. But I've been waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And still you bring me nothing. It's been two weeks, Selina, two weeks! Where's my money?"

The question sounded rhetorical but apparently it was literal, as I learned when he chucked his glass of whiskey across the room and screamed in my face: "Where's my money, Selina!"

I stood firm. Grave was an angry man, yes, but he was not a violent man. He stood over me quivering with rage, but I knew that in a few short seconds he would sit back down, order another whiskey, and just keep talking.

I was wrong...sort of.

"I'm done waiting, Selina." He smacked his thug on the shoulder. Without breaking eye contact with me, the thug retrieved his pistol from his suit jacket and handed it to Grave. The crime boss set that same pistol down on the table between us. "I know what you needed that money for. Do you think I'm stupid? Don't answer. In fact, don't do anything, except get my money. Because if I don't have that money by tomorrow night, me and Vito here are going to pay your friend Ivy a visit, and we're going to put a bullet in her fucking skull." He sat back down. The gun was still between us. "Do I make myself clear?"

I nodded my head furiously. My fists were balled and my knuckles were white. I could feel Vito's stare but I no longer cared. All I cared about was killing this man, and making him regret ever threatening my friend.

I glanced at the gun. The safety was off.

"Well, shoo." He shooed me away, fanning his hands at me. "Go get my money, kitty cat."

I glanced at the gun one more time, then at Vito, then at Grave, and then I left. This time I didn't run. I didn't even walk. I stood outside Grave's club and just tried to breathe.

The breaths came in short bursts. I tried breathing through my nose but the smell of putrid garbage in the alley across the street made me gag, which only intensified my breathing. I tried to hold it together. If anyone found me like this in front of Grave's club my career would be over—but I couldn't.

Everything came pouring in at once, like an emotional floodgate being forced opened, releasing the pent up waves. I held the tears back as long as I could but the flooding was too strong and so I sat on the curb and cried. I cried wet, hot tears and choked on the phlegm in my throat. Every time I managed to stop myself, the thought of Ivy lying dead on the ground started up a whole new wave, and I sat on the curb and cried until I physically couldn't anymore.

 _I can't fuck up anymore._ Not for her sake.

I puked once in the alley for good measure, then started the walk home.


	3. Chapter 2: The Bat

Chapter Two

The Bat

June 22nd, 2018, 3:59 A.M., AKA: not my fucking day.

Before I had even made it down the block, I was grabbed by the arm and hurled into the darkest alley on the street. I actually landed quite softly, somehow, against the dry pavement. I would've been frightened if I wasn't already so pissed off. Between the Wayne Tower heist going south and Grave going crazy, I was just about ready to fucking kill whoever was responsible for this.

"I need your help."

 _Oh shit never mind._

I turned around; it was him. He stood over me, at least 7 feet, his shadow even taller, his eyes somehow brighter, his cape...still kind of stupid, actually. There was no breeze on the ground to keep it moving, so it just looked like a black mop pooling at his feet. I was caught between laughter and curiosity.

"Do you leave that at the dry cleaners, or..."

"I have a job for you," he said, his voice still dripping metallic. "I want to hire you."

"Hire me?" He still wasn't my type, but, still.

"You're a cat burglar. I want you to steal something for me."

Oh, right.

Wait, no. This guy wasn't a crime boss, he was a fucking Man-Bat. I don't work with cosplayers, that's rule number one!

"My services are expensive," I said. God damn it, Selina, always thinking with your fucking wallet. Then again he's also super fucking scary, No wasn't an option.

"I can pay you two-hundred thousand dollars."

I died, and in that moment, my soul ascended to heaven. God was standing at the pearly gates, waving to me as I approached. He explained how I died: he told me I had a heart attack, and a stroke, and similar afflictions like that, all at the same time, when I heard the Batman tell me he was going to pay me

"Two-hundred thousand dollars? Two, zero, zero, zero, zero?"

"You're missing a zero there—"

"Two-hundred thousand dollars!"

"Okay! Four-hundred then, better?"

I literally stood among angels in heaven, my soul but a white light expanding in my chest, ready to burst with life and love and

"Four-hundred thousand!" I grabbed his gloved-hand and shook it as fast and as hard as I could. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes yes yes yes deal deal deal!" I didn't stop shaking until he finally forcibly ripped his sore hand away.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask—"

"Don't care! We shook hands, that's a deal," I quickly shot back. A firecracker exploded in my brain and I felt a jolt of electricity race down my spine. My fingers tingled as I tried to remain calm and still. I could only think about one thing: _Ivy_.

"I need you to steal a ledger from Carmine Falcone."

The tingling was gone. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You are going to be stealing from Carmine Falcone."

"Carmine Falcone?" A different kind of tingling had begun pulsing in my body. "Carmine "the Roman" Falcone? Gotham's biggest crime lord? Arguably the most powerful man in all of Gotham, maybe all of New York state. You want to steal something from him?"

He didn't answer. He only stared, his eyes lingering above my head, past me, through me, not at me. What was he thinking? What should I have been thinking?

 _I should've been thinking about Ivy_. I needed to be thinking about her. Four-hundred thousand dollars would not only dig me out of my debt, but it would be enough to put Ivy in the best hospital in the country. But was I really prepared to risk my life for it?

I owed Ivy so much. She saved my life, and now I had the opportunity to save hers.

"I'll be back for an answer." He fired his own grappling gun upward and fled into the night, leaving behind a light scent of men's perfume. _Expensive_ men's perfume. Who was this guy?

–

I walked sullenly into my apartment. In my haste earlier, I had knocked over the foyer desk. It was laying on the ground, split down the middle, hanging on by a few splinters. I threw my keys across the room onto the couch, and passed the broken desk without another thought.

I opened Ivy's door without knocking. She was sitting up, leaning over her nightstand, watering the plants with the water I'd gotten her.

"That was supposed to be for you," I said, walking over and splaying myself across her bed, on her covered legs.

"They need it more," she quietly said. She smiled contently at her dumb weeds. She loved them so much. I just couldn't understand. Still, seeing her up, awake, smiling, happy—it broke me.

"You're right." I rolled over, hugging her waist and laying my head on her chest. "The plants are more useful than you anyway."

She laughed. "You wouldn't know what to do with them."

"Nothing a quick Google search can't solve."

"Regardless," she said, "they'd die without my gentle touch."

"Same."

"Same."

We both laughed.

"You're not going to believe who I saw tonight," I said, sitting up. She stopped watering the plants and looked to me with big, curious eyes. "Who?"

I said, with the biggest grin possible on my face, "Batman."

Her eyes lit up. "No! No way!" She scrunched her hands up in her messy orange hair and silently screamed. "That's amazing!"

"I know!" I blurted out. "He was so tall."

"Was he hot? How many abs did he have?"

Classic Ivy.

"I don't know, he had, like, this body armor on. It kind of looked stupid, actually. I'm pretty sure it was rubber? It looked like rubber."

"Oh my god," she said, in the most serious tone, "did he have bat nipples?"

I shook my head. "What?"

"Like, did his armor have bat nipples? Armor nipples, I guess."

"No! What? No. His armor did not have nipples."

"I bet he's ripped under all that armor and bat nipples," she said, glancing away wistfully. I swear I gagged.

"What did he want, anyway?" she asked.

"Well, the first time he stopped me from breaking into Wayne Tower—"

"The first time!" she nearly shouted, her voice almost giving out. "You've met him more than once?"

"Yeah, actually I just came back from seeing him. Listen, Ivy, he offered me—"

"From seeing him?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "Why would you be seeing him, Selina? Is there more to this narrative that you're not telling me?"

"No. Actually he was trying to hire me."

"Hire you? To do what?" she asked.

I let out a deep breath. "He wants me to steal something from Carmine Falcone."

I waited. Ivy took her time, deliberating her response while she stared at me, her face a solid wall of non-information. I knew what she was thinking. I knew that she would say, "No. You can't. You won't. I won't allow it."

And I would respond, "Ivy, he offered me a lot of money."

"It doesn't matter, Sel. No amount of money is worth risking your life for. If you steal from Carmine Falcone, he _will_ kill you." Her face was clearer now. I could see the worry and irritation both mixing together, swirling her facial features around like a whirlpool.

"It'll be fine. I've never been caught before, remember?"

"Except at Wayne Tower," she argued sternly.

"That was by the Batman," I retorted snidely. "No one gets past him."

"Except Carmine Falcone. And there's a reason Falcone gets past him, because Falcone always gets what he wants. And if he wants you dead, you're already dead."

"Ivy..."

"I need to get some sleep," she said, pulling her blanket over her face. I didn't want to leave her like this, worrying.

But I had to. I had to do it.

"Okay," I said, getting down and leaving the room. I closed the door behind me quietly.

–

The next night I waited on the FedEx tower. I hadn't slept the night before; I could hear Ivy most of the night, tossing and turning, refilling her glass of water to feed her plants. I could hear the city outside my window, the life bursting and booming, car horns and shouting. I could hear the humming of the AC in the living room, the AC unit rattling like a caged animal. At some points, when it got quiet enough, I could hear my heartbeat beating slowly in my chest. I could feel it in my skin, pulsing.

Why couldn't she understand. Why couldn't she understand how badly we needed the money, how badly _she_ needed the money. What good was my life anyway, if I couldn't use it to save hers? I always pay back my debts.

"So, what's it going to be?"

I wasn't frightened this time. I'd heard him coming, and I didn't even bother turning to answer. "I'm in."

"Good. Come with me." He held out his hand while he readied his grappling gun. I still had my back turned to him so I didn't notice, but he gave me a little kick in the back to get my attention.

"Oh." I blushed and took his hand and we flew off.

A few moments later we were standing across the street from The _Coll_ _ésium_ Hotel. A woman screamed and ran when she saw us land.

"Falcone's suite is on the top floor. It's not only where he lives, it's also where he conducts most of his business dealings, legitimate or otherwise," the Man-Bat explained. "Inside are civilians and armed guards. I can't go in there without running the risk of collateral damage. You, however, can sneak inside and get what I need without ever being seen. I plan to create a diversion to make it easier for you."

"A diversion?"

He held up a small, black ball. It looked like glass, thin and fragile. Inside it looked like a mini black cloud was brewing. He threw it across the street, at the hotel steps. It collided with the stone and erupted into a giant cloud of black smoke that expanded outwards. Quite quickly a literal smoke screen was hovering around the hotel entrance.

"A diversion," he said. He revealed several more of the small, black balls before pocketing them.

"Hey!" someone yelled from across the street. One of the armed guards that the Man-Bat had mentioned was fighting his way through the smoke, searching for the perpetrator.

"We should probably go," I said. He grabbed my hand and we fled into the night together.

We landed, sometime later, back on the roof of the FedEx building. My heart rate was higher than it had been last night; cats should never fly; the old adage may say cats land on their feet, but trust me, it's a myth.

"So when's this going down?" I managed to ask, breathing deep breaths.

"Tomorrow night. We'll meet here, same time. Be sure to wear light clothing, dark, unnoticeable. You cannot, under any circumstance, be seen by anyone during this operation."

"So no dress, then?" I quipped. He didn't laugh.

"Until tomorrow," he said, and flew away, almost like a real bat.

I waited a few minutes after he was gone. My breathing was still a bit quick, but I knew that wouldn't go away any time soon. I also knew that going back to Ivy with any of this information was a no-go, which meant no going home.

That was fine; I'd slept outside many times in my youth. It wasn't until my 20th birthday last year that I actually got the damn apartment, so couch surfing was a common sport to me. I'd never really had a home until that apartment. After leaving the orphanage at 6, I never settled down until now. You had to keep moving in this city, unless you wanted to get sucked in by the current. That's why I wanted to move uptown.

It's quiet uptown.


	4. Chapter 3: The Roman

Chapter Three

The Roman

Carmine "the Roman" Falcone was Gotham's biggest crime boss by far. He had his hand in every cookie jar, from drugs to weapons, prostitution, human trafficking, smuggling, and even contract killing. He's easily one of the richest men in Gotham, standing only below Gotham's golden boy Bruce Wayne. Funny, I had already tried to break into Wayne's tower, and now I was going to break into Falcone's tower; what is it about rich, powerful men that I find so magnetically attractive? Must be the hair.

I still hadn't gone home to Ivy. I'm sure she was worried, but she'd be even more worried if she knew what she was worrying about. She was right, of course—no one gets past the Roman. Even with the Batman at my back, was I really confident I could pull it off?

"Time to go," he said, grabbing my hand unceremoniously as we launched off the ground. The wind this time was biting cold; I had worn light clothing like he said too, and even in the June summer air, I was freezing my ass off. Gotham was not a notoriously warm city.

We landed this time on the roof of The _Coll_ _ésium_ Hotel. I could see a vent across the way, and I knew what the plan was.

"You have ten minutes. In, grab the ledger, out. It will be located—"

"Yeah yeah yeah, on the desk, third to right, next to the accounting documents, which I shouldn't touch, along with everything else in the room."

"In the _building_ ," he corrected. "You can't leave a single trace behind."

"Right. Whatever." I blew him off. I was never one for taking orders, especially not from a dork like him. Plus, I was feeling confident now. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins like a renewed energy and I was ready to take on the world.

"Let's do it," I said to no one in particular before sliding down the open vent. I tumbled down a few feet before hitting a curved slope, which threw me with some force down a straight metal tunnel, where I stopped. _That was probably loud_. I shook the worry away and continued onward.

The Man-Bat had given me a map of the ventilation system in the hotel. If I was reading it correctly, I was just above Falcone's suite. I just needed to go straight ahead, take a left, drop down another few feet, another left, straight, then right below me would be Falcone's office—simple!

I started moving. The vents in this building were actually quite spacious, but I still stayed on my stomach and crawled forward; walking, I imagine, would've been a bit loud. On that note, I didn't actually know if there was anyone below me, in the hallways or the rooms or even Falcone's suite. The way Man-Bat told it, Faclone's entire floor was crawling with goons. But from what I could hear, I was the only one on the top floor.

That gave me a regrettable feeling of confidence. When I came upon a vent grate, I tried to look through it at every angle I could, peering into the halls of the hotel. I couldn't see anyone. I waited and listened; I still couldn't hear anyone.

I grabbed the grate. I breathed, quietly, sucking in as much air as I could manage in my small lungs before I exhaled slowly, quietly, so very quiet. I moved the grate out of the way. Then I waited...

I waited.

And waited.

And dove through the opening into the hallway. I froze. I had landed on my feet, knees bent, head down. I waited a few more seconds before looking up: empty. There really was not a single person in sight. Up and down the hallway, nothing but velvet drapes and wool carpets. It was well lit, with brass candle holders adorning the walls between every hotel room door. The walls themselves were painted in gold and silver, with blotches of a rich white tone here and there. It was beautiful, and just standing there made me feel...different. I didn't feel like Selina the cat burglar, street scum extraordinaire; I was Selina Kyle, just a girl trying to make it in this lavish yet unforgiving city.

I started walking down the hall towards Falcone's suite. I let my fingers drag against the wall as I walked, feeling every stroke of paint that was deliberately painted. So much detail and care, and no one ever noticed. The room doors were rich mahogany, thick and shiny, freshly lacquered. Everything in this very hallway was worth more than my life.

My hand jerked away. _This is how they live_. Ivory tower would be too generous a description.

Soon I was standing before Falcone's room door. The lock was easy to pick. The hard part was actually building up the courage to open it. The confidence, the renewed energy I'd felt earlier like a caffeine rush, it had drained quickly. I stood, a girl, before the most dangerous door of my life.

 _Also the most lucrative_ , I thought, before shoving open the door. It swayed open before hitting the door stop with a dull thud.

"Hey."

I spun around. He was already reaching for his gun but I was faster, my fingers more nimble, my knife lighter as I ducked underneath him and shoved the 3-inch blade into his rib cage, bypassing the actual rib part and cramming the blade into the softest organs I could find. I heard him cough and choke on the air in his lungs, so I pulled the knife out and stabbed him under the breast plate, then in the stomach, then again and again and again until my hand was coated in a warm film of blood—it was running down my arm.

He fell over. He tried to grab the door for support but he was already dead and his fingers slipped and he crashed to the ground with one last strangled breath. A steady pool of blood was already forming around him, soaking into the wool carpets.

Johnny Viti was dead at my feet. Carmine Falcone's nephew lived on the same floor as his uncle, in the room across from him. He had opened the door just as I was opening Falcone's door. He had seen me, accosted me, and died while trying to stop me.

I turned on my heel and walked into Falcone's suite.

It had a clear Roman theme to it, with marble and granite floors, ceilings, columns, and tabletops; purple and gold drapes and carpets; and of course some rose-adorned wreaths hanging over his great crackling fireplace. At the very back of the room was a large window overlooking the Gotham city skyline. Falcone was not a subtle man, as I'm sure his interior designer often quipped.

His office was much more conservative with the Roman style. Instead it went more for a _Godfather_ vibe, dark and brooding with many fancy looking books on the looming bookshelves. The particular book I was looking for was on his desk, like the Bat had said it would be. I grabbed it without hesitation. I didn't even bother to look inside. This job was done. I was done. Ivy was safe.

I walked back into the main room. I headed for the front door. I stopped.

Standing in the door frame was Carmine Falcone. Behind him, his nephew, dead, lying in a puddle of his own blood, my knife still lodged in his gut. Me, a thief, holding in my hands quite possibly the most important thing in this building.

It was not an ideal situation.

The Roman stepped forward. I could see him better now in the light. He was old, worn down, yet hardened, his hair almost non-existent, his hands wrinkled, his face contorted—he was angry.

"You," he said, taking another step forward. There was nothing between us, only fifteen feet of air. To my left, a couch and a coffee table. To my right, him. Straight ahead, the kitchen.

"You killed my nephew." He closed the distance even more. "You broke into my home. You had the Batman terrorize my staff. You—" he looked down and saw the ledger in my hands. "You stole from me." _Think of something, Selina_. "Are you police? Maroni?" _Get out of here_. "No, you're not with the police. I recognize you." _Shit. Fuck._ "I know you. I hired you. You stole the patient files from Arkham. I have you on my payroll. I have your name. I know you."

I ran. I dove under his arms as he tried to stop me and tumbled through the open door. I stopped just short of Viti's body but still managed to get blood on my feet and knees.

"You can't hide!" Falcone shouted from behind me. I launched into a sprint, putting as much distance between Falcone and me as I could. I kept running, taking every turn that I came to, looking for any sign of an escape. I didn't care where I was going, only that I _was going_.

I found an elevator. I pressed the Down button and the doors opened immediately. I threw myself in and jabbed the Ground Floor button. I only stopped to breathe when the doors had closed.

 _Holy shit_. Holy shit. I was dead. I was already dead. I was Johnny Viti lying dead on the floor dead. I might as well have been Viti in that moment because I was So. Fucking. Dead.

The elevator dinged. I was on the ground floor. The doors opened to chaos. Falcone's men were spread about like rocks on a beach, all face down and groaning. There were bullet holes everywhere, and some parts of the walls and floors were destroyed completely, like a meteor shower had destroyed the lobby. The only person standing was him, in the center of the room. He looked, now more than ever, like a grand statue.

"You're late," he said. "The police are here." There were red and blue lights flashing behind him outside.

"I got caught up," I said, walking past him. I could see the police blockade outside the front doors. "What's our exit strategy?" He held up one of his black smoke balls.

"Attention!" Someone was using a megaphone. "Listen up! This is Detective Jim Gordon of the GCPD. We have the building surrounded. Just come out with your hands up, and there'll be no trouble. We don't want to shoot you."

"Bullshit," I murmured.

"Let's go," the Bat said. He threw the smoke ball at the front door. In a few short seconds I could no longer see the flashing lights.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. He kicked open the doors and aimed his grappling gun upward.

"Do you even know where you're aiming?" I asked. He didn't answer. He fired the gun and whisked us both away.

–

Back on the FedEx tower, like always. I was beginning to forget how I had gotten up here before I met him. I was beginning to forget what my life had been like before any of this had happened.

He grabbed my hand and inspected the blood. "We need to get you out of the city."

"What?" I yanked my hand away. He had begun reading something on what looked like his phone, not even bothering to look up at me as he spoke.

"Carmine Falcone has officially put a hit on one Selina Kyle. Payout: one-million dollars. You'll be dead by sunrise."


	5. Chapter 4: The Manor

Chapter Four

The Manor

"Fish Mooney, the Penguin, the Riddler, a war, _the_ war, is that all these fucking people talk about?" I chucked the remote at the TV, missing by a narrow margin. "Fish, Penguin, Fish, Penguin, FISH, PENGUIN, doesn't anyone care about the guy I killed? Doesn't anyone care about Falcone and his fucking witch hunt for _one_ fucking girl, does anyone actually care about that? I don't need to hear about what Fish and Penguin are up to, just look out the fucking window! I need to know about the guy who's trying to kill me right now."

Bruce set down the coffee tray on the table in front of me. He had left the cream and sugar on the side. I probably could have been more specific when I asked him to "get me some fucking coffee, jag off."

"I'm sure someone cares," he said, picking up the stray remote and switching off the news. "But for now the smartest thing you can do is sit put and wait."

" _Wait_ ," I repeated in a mocking tone. "Just _sit put and wait._ " I stuck my tongue out at him before I sipped my coffee, no cream or sugar because nothing says power move like drinking black coffee.

"I doubt Falcone will be looking for you on White Hill. All you need to do is wait here for a few months while everything just—"

"A few _months_!" I snorted, coffee shooting out of my nose like a geyser; I'm pretty sure it burned my sense of smell.

"Falcone isn't going to give up easy. Even when—if—you go back, you need to stay below the radar."

I shook my head. My curls were extra fluid that day, so when I shook my head they just danced back and forth like professional performers. "Nope. Not happening. I'm not staying in this fucking place for months. It's been two days and I'm already bored. I need to get out. I'm an outdoor cat. Bruce, look at me." He looked at me indifferently. "I'm an outdoor cat. Let me out."

He shrugged. "I can't do that. He told me to protect you, and that's what I'm doing."

Bitch.

"Well can't we at least go somewhere!" I pleaded. "Your cars must have tinted windows."

At that Bruce only smirked.

It's in a boy's nature to be boastful. Not just towards women, but towards life in general. Men have some inherent trait to them, some innate need to express how great they are, whether through talent, or wealth, or their cock. They're always looking for some way to tell everyone that they're the best because of this special thing, Oh look at me I have a garage filled with the most expensive and exclusive cars in the world, I'm so important, please pay attention to me; my house, my self-titled "manor" is the biggest in Gotham, will you sleep with me now? Pathetic.

But his car collection was pretty cool though.

"And this," he said, patting on the hood of a rusted, broken, ugly piece of shit, "was my father's pride and joy."

"Shouldn't _you_ be his pride and joy?" I asked jokingly.

"Since you asked me that, I know now that you have no idea what car this is," he said with a shit-eating grin. He popped the hood with practiced ease and marveled at the contents within. To me it looked like an engine, with engine bits here and there, and some tubes and shit. To him, it must have resembled something of the extraordinary. He looked, in that moment, like a young child on Christmas day, and this his prized Christmas gift, sans bow.

In the two days I'd lived with Wayne up until that point, he'd reminded me more and more of the young child I saw on the news. The death of Thomas and Martha Wayne had rippled across Gotham city like tremors, invading every crease and crack. They had been Gotham's shining light, their beacon, for a brighter future. When they died, that torch was passed to their son, who was, and still is, just a young boy.

Young, of course, being a relative term. Bruce Wayne was in his early twenties, and you could tell. He was fit, handsome, mannered, handsome, responsible, handsome, his jawline could probably get a job cutting glass, and did I mention handsome? Needless to say, I was a bit enamored with him in those first few days. But it didn't take long for me to remember where I was and who I was with.

"It's a 1987 Ferrari F40, only two-hundred in the United States and about a thousand world-wide," Bruce explained. "My father bought it at an estate auction with the goal of flipping it. Instead, he brought it in and gave it a home with plans to fix her up for his own personal enjoyment. Now she just lays here all by her lonesome."

"Please stop calling it Her. Next you're going to name it."

"He called her Sharon."

"Oh fuck me."

He closed the hood with the utmost care, actually locking the hood into place by hand instead of just dropping it like a normal person. I swear to god he kissed it before he straightened up.

"I've been meaning to fix her up myself, but, I've been busy."

"Busy?" I scoffed. "I haven't seen your face on any news channel for the last week. What, pray tell, have you been busy with, Mr. Wayne?"

" _Master_ Wayne," the incessant butler corrected from the doorway, holding up a telephone. "It is your scheduled phone appointment with Lady Weston, the new chairman of the board. She is quite upset with your latest expense report."

Bruce beamed back at Alfred, like a sinner smiling up at his savior—like Superman. If I didn't know any better I'd say they practically rehearsed that timing.

"I'd be happy to take her call, Afred," Bruce said, rushing over and grabbing the phone. "Mrs Weston! A pleasure to hear from you so early. I'm glad you had time to read my report. I'm especially interested in the first section, where I—," he was cut short. He gave me one last faux-apologetic look before pacing away with the phone in hand. He had left me in his fucking garage.

"And I shan't expect you to be taking any of these out for a joyride," Alfred said, still standing just outside the doorway. "I'll have the dogs on you, lass." Fucking Scots. Or was he Irish? Fuck if I cared.

"We'll see about that, old man," I retorted haughtily, turning on my heel dramatically and stalking off in the direction of... well, nowhere. The room only had one exit. Hang on how'd they get the cars in here?

Bruce's call didn't last very long, as I expected. I'd come to learn from him, in my studies, over the last few days, which I conducted thoroughly, that his business calls always ended quickly and quietly. No matter how angry the recipient on the other end was, Bruce would always have them calm and agreeable by the time the called ended, several seconds later. It was actually a talent I feared. I thought about all the future fights we were inevitably going to have and how he would use those exact techniques on me.

I tried not to think about it.

"So!" Bruce quietly yelled, clapping his hands together. "Who's hungry?"

I was in the study when he called. He found me quickly and repeated the question. I was busy pulling every book off every shelf until I found something interesting to read. There was a steady stream of books piled on the floor following me in a line.

"Hey, whoa whoa whoa!" Bruce stopped me just as I was grabbing the last book above the fireplace. He looked almost panicked as he gently guided my hand away from the last book. "What are you doing?"

"Just looking for some reading material," I replied innocently.

He looked around the room: I had left no stone un-turned. Every single book, fiction to non-fiction, had been thrown on the floor without a care in the world. The walls looked much taller without them.

"Well this is impressive." Alfred was standing at the door. The man was like a vampire, never entering a room without first being invited. Maybe that's actually the quality of a good butler? I wouldn't know, I hate butlers.

"Alfred, I'm sorry, could you pick these up?" Bruce asked, already starting to gather some books at his feet. The Butler nodded before stepping into the room and helping himself. I was the only one standing in the room while they cleaned up the books at their feet. There was only a single book at eye level, sitting on the fireplace: _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. I hate that book to this day.

By the end of the day I found myself in the greenhouse. It was the only thing I had to remind me of Ivy. I had called a mutual friend to watch her for a short time while I was away, but even still I worried endlessly. With Falcone out there hot on my scent, how could I not? I still hadn't seen his face on any of the big news channels. He was keeping quiet, trying to sniff me out without alerting me.

"This was my mother's favorite room," Bruce said from the doorway. Half of his face was covered in the limelight of the room, making him look like that one lawyer who went crazy. His eyes roamed the room in a daze. Again, the way he looked at these things, these plants, exactly how he looked at that car, like a kid marveling at something incredible. It would take me many years to make the connection that I should've made right then and there: his dad's car, his mother's greenhouse; the entire manor was just one big reminder that he was alone.

"I have a friend that likes plants," I said, becoming uncomfortable in the silence.

" _You_ have friends?" he laughed. He was inspecting the leaves of a particular fauna while he spoke. "You didn't mention any friends when we first met."

"The less you know about me the better."

He shivered. "Ominous. Very ominous."

"Fuck you." _Fuck him_.

"I'm just saying. It's good to have friends, people you can count on. Speaking of which, if there's anyone important to you out there that might be in danger, I'd be more than happy to take them in."

"My friends can get along just fine on their own." _I hope_.

"I just thought I'd offer. You provided an invaluable service to our mutual friend, and I want to pay you back in any when I can."

"The money will settle our debt just fine," I said.

He dropped the over-sized leaf he had been examining and looked up at me with a soft smile. "Right, the money. Of course." He looked down while he strode over to the doorway. "I'll have Alfred fix you up some food. I'm going out for the evening on business. We can talk in the morning."

And then he was gone.


End file.
